No Such Thing
by It'sTimeToDance
Summary: There are only a few things in this world that made sense to Dick Grayson. One of them was that Bruce Wayne didn't get engaged. Of course, logic never does quit pull through. TT and Batman Begins crossover.
1. Bludhaven

_A/N Teen Titans (animated) and Batman Begins crossover, because I like those worlds better._

Dick idly jotted at the wrinkled police report, now just erasing and rewriting the words already there to avoid getting up. He glanced at the cracked plastic clock hanging above the doors of the Bludhaven Police Department. He racked his brain for the appropriate number to add on the too-slow clock. It was forty slow last week, two days ago it fell from the rusted nail holding it up, so that'd be an hour...

His cell phone vibrated on the alluminum desk top.

_God damn it._

He grabbed it impatiently and flipped it open without bothering to look at the number.

"Grayson," he said automatically.

"Grayson?" a voice mocked from the other end. He realized with exasperated irritation that he probably should have looked at the number, "I would have seen you as something a bit more..._mysterious_."

"How'd you get this number, Raven," he sighed, giving up any hopes he may have foolishly harbored of making it out of the building before dawn. Of course, he should have known better by now.

He could hear the smile in her voice, "S'not hard, with you being the Tom Cruise of police officers."

"I try."

She paused for a minute, and he heard the sound of metal being dragged across the floor, "So, the reason I called was--"

"Your in jail and you want me to bail you out?" Dick joked, stuffing the police report into a folder.

"Funny. Anyway, I was in Gotham the other day, and..." Dick imagined her, in her dark blue cloak, shuffling awkwardly wherever she stood. He waited for some kind of ellaboration.

"And..."

"Did you know Bruce is getting married?"

Pause. His mouth remained in mid-breath. He fell back against the chair, the phone just barely staying in his grip.

There were only a few things in this world that Richard Grayson was absolutly positive. One, grass is green. Two, EMc2. Three, Bruce Wayne never got too close. These things were the only things that he had ever taken solace in, because they were the only things that stayed the same. Everything else in his life rotated like clockwork, one moment there, the next gone, off being something else. It was logic, and logic was _always _logic. This was _not _logical. At all.

Bruce Wayne was like a stray cat. If you stood perfectly still and didn't say a word, he'd stick around. Made a sudden move, the claws came out. That was how he'd come to believe it. It was what he told himself when he'd wonder why when he'd be officially adopted. When he was 18, and the obligation the billionaire had held over him expired, Dick had finally just given up and spent the beginning of his adult years in a sort of limbo, belonging to no one. Not quit his son any more, like he had thought. A duty served. A former employee forced to retire. With it, the Robin persona he'd been given. For years, Robin was his identity, thought it always belonged to Batman. If he didn't belong to Batman, he wasn't Robin. That's what it was.

Now, it was like he was in witness protection. Thinking one name, ahving to go by another. Sometimes forgetting that the when people said "Richard", they were talking to him. It was why he'd left the team. Robin was belonged to the Titans as much as he did Batman. Nightwing wasn't a sidekick, nor was he a leader. He worked alone, whether he liked it or not.

The only thing that had comforted him when he'd left Wayne Manor for the last time was that, Bruce Wayne had an inability to get close to anyone. That it would probably cause him physical pain if he tried. He didn't have girlfriends. He had few friends. He trusted no one. He probably didn't even trust Alfred completly. He'd always said, anyone can easily be broken. You can never give them too much information.

Cynical, yes, but, as Dick had learned throughout his early years, very true.

So, as his precious logic would have it, Bruce Wayne did not get married. That would require trusting someone you weren't biologically obligated too. That would require letting someone get within an inch of you personal bubble, where the last person to get that close was buried six feet under. It was like trying to hold a cloud. _It didn't happen._

"Oh." he croaked, his earlier buzz of anxiety subdued. God, he wished he was old enough to drink.

"I just...thought you might like to know." she said quietly.

He shook his head to himself, running a hand through his long black hair.

"Robin?" she asked. He winced at his old name, "Are you okay?"

He shook his head again, "No. No, I'm fine."

Her voice was gentle, like a mother trying to calm a crying baby, "Look, I'm sure he was going to tell you--"

"No, Raven, it's fine. I..." he took a weary glance at the clock, "I have to go."

"Oh." she said, deflated.

A pang of guilt stabbed Dick's chest. He added, "It was good talking to you."

"Yeah. You to. Bye."

"Bye."

He slammed the phone shut, letting it clatter on the desk, throwing his head back, rubbing his eyes absently. He imagined the women who had somehow broken Bruce Wayne's infamous shield.

Why as he worried about it? Bruce had made it clear Dick was no longer part of his life. He could get married to whoever the hell he wanted. Why should he care?

"Grayson!" the voice of the Chief of Police boomed through the nighttime silence of the squad room. He was snapped from his thoughts, jumping at the sudden noise.

He found the Chief, at the doorway of his office, the phone held tightly in his hand. He, from what Dick had seen thus far, was not a usually pleasent man. When he talked, his bushy brown mustache wagged like a crushed caterpillar squirming for breath. His beady eyes bugged out of their sockets most of the time, and he had a fat, angry blue vein that constantly threatened to explode popping from his thick, red neck. He wagged the phone at Dick, his eyebrows turned into what had to be a painful grimace.

"Yeah?" Dick called back wearily, praying to whatever god he could think of it wasn't another accident.

"You and Evans get down to Gotham! They're gonna need backup!"

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, "What happened now?" It was fact that most of the police system in Gotham was just as corrupt as Bludhaven. Not many lasted a few months before they were bought out, which meant they were usually short about fifty men. They constantly called BPD for high profile cases, even though as soon as they would get there, the whole mess was already cleaned up. Dick was constantly called on it, even though he was probably the youngest police officer in this half of the country.

"Wayne Manor. Some gang planted a bomb. It's pretty bad."

Dick stiffened, snapping his head toward the red-faced captain. He didn't look surprised. Of course, Dick shouldn't have been surprised either. He was high profile. Alot of people hated him. He should be more surprised it didn't happen more.

Still. He could help but hope that Bruce was Batman tonight.

A/N I might continue this. Depends.


	2. Arrival

**A/N I'm not gonna get your hopes up with promises of completed stories and all that, because I probably won't. This one, however, I can't see getting more then three or four chapters long, so maybe.**

_If this is a test  
I'm losing my shit  
Would it kill you to care  
as much as I did?  
If this is a test,  
I'm wasting my breath  
You're a stranger I know well,  
and not at all.  
_-"The Test" The Academy Is...

Dick swerved around the corner, the rubber of the cruiser's wheels screeching at the cracked streets as they past Gotham city limits. Through the dark blue sky, a hint of golden red peeked out from the tallest of the city's buildings, glowing like a dying fire. The sound of sirens rang farther down the streets. The steady stream of curious citizens flowed towards the ring of whispy black smoke floating into the sky, disapearing around the shining round moon. Cars honked as Dick sped past the slowed traffic.

"Jesus, Grayson!" his partner yelped, his hand clenched so tightly to his door handle you could see the white of the knuckles. He was fresh from the Academy, though only a year younger then Dick, who had graduated four years earlier then average people would. His hair, a startling red that would gleam if in the right light, was long and greasy, hanging lazily in his wide yes. "The place ain't gonna burn down in the next five minutes!"

Yeah. Right.

He ignored his partner with ease, practicaly skipping over the next curb and wisped onto what he knew to be the beginning of Bruce Wayne's thousands of acres. The dim, warm glow of the fire became a blinding, red-hot blaze, now towering over the trees that surrouded the home. The gates came into view, glowing orange in shadow of the fire. It was propped open, revealing the extended drive leading to the mansion.

He slammed his foot on the brakes, skidding to the side just inches from a GPD cruiser. Evans tumbled in his seat, gripping his seat belt as though it were the one thing keeping him alive, "What is _wrong _with you?" he gasped.

Dick looked at the burning manor before him. Only half, the East Wing, were completley engulfed, the rest slightly charred by spare flicks of ember. He saw the red coats of firefighters scurry about, their thick green hoses thrashing in their hands from the pressure. A small crowd had formed just outside the gate, held back by a string of officers. He threw the door open, "Get used to it."

He flashed his badge to the closest officer, "Grayson, BPD."

The cop, a stubby man who was in desperate need for a shave, looked him over skeptically. Dick supposed he should be used to it. He looked as young as he was. It didn't help when handling kids, who were about the same age.

"Ain't you a little young for an outta city, kid?" he scoffed.

Oh, he was nowhere _near _the mood.

"Older then I look," he said breifly, skipping the usual 'graduated early' explanation, "What's that story?"

His beady eyes searched critically for a fraction of a second before he spit out a seemingly well rehearsed play-by-play, throwing his hand casually for emphasise, as though this were a regualr accurence. Maybe in Gotham, he thought.

"It was close up, probably some kind of pipe bomb. It started at the south, ground level, from what we can tell," he waved a pudgy hand towards the burning mansion, "maybe an inside job, from the security in this place. No guy would have the guts to get that close 'less he already got a key."

Dick thought about the employes at the mansion. Not many. Pretty much Alfred and a cook that came in every holiday who spoke about three words of english ("Pay check, sir?"). Though, Bruce and Dick hadn't spoken since he was sixteen. He might have hired a whole slew of maids and Dick would be obliviace.

"You get anybody out?" he asked, masking his anxiety with casual interest. He held his breath.

He nodded, "Wayne, he was at work. Called the company. A Lucius Fox said he'd been there all night. The Mrs., she got a few burns, but pretty much fine. Their butler was down on the other end. We got 'im out fine."

Dick bit the inside of his mouth to keep down the satisfied smile threatening the tips of his lips. Thankyou, Batman.

He vaguley wondered who this famous "Mrs." was. He searched over the officers' shoulders, catching only the top of the ambulence, "Wayne back yet?"

"Yeah, 'bout ten minutes ago. Wasn't too happy, I'll tell you that."

"Who would be?"

The officer snorted, "Anyway, we're gonna need someone to take a report."

Of course.

It was an unwritten law with any cop that the last to get to any scene had to take the report. It was a thankless, mind numbingly irritating job, seeing as most witness were mindless idiots who couldn't get their story together. Like talking to a three year old, it was all you had to hold their attention. Dick never understood this rule, seeing as if you were the last at a crime scene, odds are you were as equally mindless as the supposed witness. It was a long, painful process, and Dick was in no mood.

Still, he picked his thin little otepad from the back of his belt, crossing through the line of curious onlookers and towards the white, flaring van, only feet from the great inferno his childhood home had become. From the distance, he saw two figure sitting rigidly at the back, a paramemedic absently wrapping bandages over one of their arms. He recodnised Alfred, who's eyes stared mournfully at the mansion he'd served in for so many years, and a pang of sorrow stabbed Dick's chest. Snap-shots of himself, younger, sliding down the long, elegent, if gothic, banister, of Alfred himself, dusting the hauntingly grim portrait of the Wayne's for what had to be the sixth time that day. Of Bruce, sitting in his cave, staring intently at the blinking screen of his super computer as though the thing itself held the answer to all his questions. Like watching a car accident, they were. He hated to watch the slideshow he was so familiar with by now. It was a cruel, hateful reminder of the place he no longer belonged to.

Alfred spotted him, perking his shoulders up in his usual manor, whether in surprise or habit, Dick couldn't tell. He didn't look much different, maybe a few more wrinkles. His jacket was pulled up, revealing stark-white bandages wrapped up to his elbow. His eyes became more focused, squinting and un squinting, as though he wasn't quite sure if he was hallucinating.

Dick thought of his own reflection, from the last time he'd seen it, anyway. Probably days ago. His hair was long, falling in stringy tuffs around his face, pulled into the ponytail he'd constantly begged Alfred to let him have when he was ten. he recalled the jagged, angry red scar curving around his eye and into his hair line, running down to the middle of his scalp. A mugging gone wrong, almost a year before he'd left the Titans. It could have still been healing, for all Dick knew, still as red and jagged as the day he got it. It was more noticable then Dick preferred, always attracting unwanted questions. Teenage boys, mostly, wondering what sort of grisly gangbanger he'd faught off to recieve it.

Dick caught sight of the women, whome he guessed was the "Mrs." in question. She was pretty, not extrodinary. Her glowing auburn hair fell in curls onto her thin shoulders, reflecting the orange blaze towering over them. She was wrapped in a tattered green blanket, her cheeks blackened by soot, and she seemed to shiver despite the heat. He could see her eyes, a sparkling blue he'd never seen before. They were almost glowing, surrounded by nothing but darkness. She looked about Bruce's age, about late 30's. She spotted him, trailing Alfred's gaze. She didn't seem to understand the sudden alarm in the old butler's eyes.

The paramedic nodded at Dick, wrapping the bandages mindlessly around the thinned roll, "Bludhaven?"

Dick nodded, "Grayson. I got it from here."

The paramedic seemed relieved, sighing his thanks and walking round to the other end of the truck. Once he was out of ear range, he turned to Alfred, "How you doing, Alf?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he muttered, staring intently at Dick. He shook his head, "My, I must be getting old."

Dick allowed himself a smile, "Six years tends to do that," he looked back at the fire. If he walked twenty large steps, he'd be caught right in the middle of it. Too close for comfort. He waved a hand at it, raising a expectant eyebrow, "So, do I need to ask?"

Alfred smiled back at him, reluctently, as though to a stranger. Dick heard orders wailed from the firemen, fumbling uselessly with the giant hose, letting it writh in their grips. The place would burn down before they made any sense of what they were doing.

"Do you two know each other?"

The women stared at him with her big, blue eyes, the irises making almost peacful reflections of the chaos around them. She had a scratch curving around her nose, barely anything. Though, somehow, it looked hideous on the delicatly curved face, like a bright red smudge on the Mona Lisa. Her eyes were brimmed red and bloodshot from the smoke, and he could see the faint shadows of smeared off makeup.

He snapped himself from his observations, shaking his head in apology and extending a hand, like he'd been drilled so many times, "Sorry. Officer Dick Grayson. You must be..."

She accepted his hand, working her own through the tufts of blankets, "Amanda. Amanda Kile."

Average name. Nothing special about it. Nothing special about _her_. Dick wondered what the attraction was, for he'd seen Bruce with plenty of women--none more then a few days--who were ten times more beautiful, with exodic, unpronouncable names from an unpronouncable country, with no other agenda other then spending the whole of their trust funds on designer bags, and when that ran out, designer husbands. He, without so much as an effort, could have had any women in the contenent. This sort of choice, a meek, boringly pretty girl with no visible ties to royalty seemed out of charactor for the infamous Bruce Wayne.

"I'm guessing your the _fiance_?" He saw Alfred, eyes brewing with a regretful guilt, through the side of his eye. They both dropped their hands. He saw the ring, a simple gold band with no obvious markings, considerably cheap for a billionaire. He mentally crossed off _gold digger_.

She covered it with her other hand, rubbing it between her fingers, "Is it that obvious?"

Dick shrugged, flashing a smile he remember Raven describing as 'classic heart-throb', "No, I'm just very observent."

She dropped both hands to her lap, catching her own glance at Alfred, "So, should I have heard of you, or--"

A familiar voice seemed to murmer in the chaotic sounds of panic, just the same as he remember. Steady, commanding, like a soft bullhorn. He came around the ambulence, in his usual suit and tie.

His hair was speckled with rogue strands of gray, more from experience then age. His eyes dipped further into his skin, shadowed by the towering flames. His mouth, as usual, was set into a hard, stoic line.

His eyes flickered for the briefest moment, catching Dick's eye with a moments confusion.

Dick gripped his thin notepad tighter, his back unconciously straightening until he was like a plank with feet. He ran through his options in record time. Pretend you have no idea who he is out of spite. Curse him out in front of his girlfriend like a scorned mother. Punch him in the face and run. Take the report, ignore all unrelated questions, then go back to ignoring each other's existence. A combination of all four?

He chose option four, loosening the pencil in it's iron choke-hold, "Mr. Wayne," he said stiffly, not meeting his hard, dull eyes, "I'm going to need to know where you were from four this afternoon until six this evening." Stupid question. He already knew.

He looked, for a moment, taken abake, eyes darting from Dick, to Alfred, to Amanda, then back to Dick. His moutn hung open a fraction, as though in mid-breath. "Dick? Is that you?"

This wasn't going to be easy.

**A/N Hmm...Authors Notes are interesting indeed. I've learned that putting them up in the middle of a paragraph is annoying, and as some would call it, 'unprofessional', which is kind of a strange thing to say, seeing as this is an unprofessional sight. Still, I was reading something for **_**The Giver**_** page, and this five paragraph long Author's Note interupted the whole thing, so I would feel stupid complaining about it, then do it mehself. So, here we are.**

**I know this ending is like, reall random and stupid, but I wanted to get it out of the way.**

**Anywhos, I just got **_**Brisingr**_**, third in the friggin' awsome **_**Eragon **_**series, which I cannot complain about thus far. It is probably going to take up alot of my time, and, as of now, my extremly retarded boy-toy, Derek, has stolen because he thinks I read too much. (We, and some other players to be named later, were at Applebees and I was reading under the table while they threw straws at the waitress. It was funny.) So, I will be consentrating a great deal on getting it back. Then reading it. Then sending angry fan mail to get the next one published. Then preparing to throw heavy perjectiles.**

**The name, Amanda Kile, is due to me losing a game of 'race of the midgets'. That's when you slap on a pair of Heelies, go to the mall, mount a shortie on your back (DAVE!) and see who gets to the other end fastest. My friend Amanda won, so I had to name a charactor from somethign after her and her midget, Kyle. Hence, Amanda Kile is born. **

**So, here we are with my story that is not a story because I most likely won't finish it because, again, I have a life. Hope you liked this chapter, because I don't. My hair is now back to brown, I'll have you know, and the bleach is burning my brain cells, which is destorying my ability to type, so there is typo-a-plenty. Stay tuned, maybe I'll finish a fic for once.**

**P.S. Read this new comic I found in an ON SALE rack at Borders called **_**Simon Dark. **_**It's by Steve Niles and Scott Hampton. It's set in Gotham, and some references to Batman are made a few times. It's really creepy and dark and bloody, if that's what your into.**

**P.S.S. For those of you My Chemical Romance fans out there, Gerard Way has his. Own. Comic. **

**I know. I almost peed myself. It's called **_**Umberella Academy, **_**and it rocked my world so hard I could have gone to second base with it. No lie.**

**That's it. Have fun. Enjoy. Peace Out.**


	3. Up In Flames

**A/N And so we begin yet another pointless waste of time that I'm positive no one really gives a crap about. This chapter, I'm using like billions o fquotes my friends are feeding me through the wonder of AIM as we speak. I'm not sure at all where this story is going, so I'll just play it by whatever mood I'm in. Watching the PRIMETIME EMMYS right now, just saw Tina Fey win something.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything except soon-to-be Mrs. Bruce Wing. I do own, however, the right to bash whoever I want. **

_And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am_

**-"**Iris" Goo Goo Dolls

_Just get the report and go, _he told himself, shifting from one foot to the other, trying his best not to look like the nervous child he always turned into when forced to encounter his old mentor. He had the odd feeling he was fighting a losing battle.

Bruce looked at Dick like he was a horribly disfigured alien, his eyes squinted into thick slits, his noticably bushy eyebrows furrowing together like fat caterpillars. Dick would have found it hilarious, had it been any other situation, but now, it was a bit unsettling.

Dick resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, like he always used to do, instead letting out his pent up anxiety on his poor notepad, well on it's way to becoming a crumpled tissue in his hand. He bit the inside of his mouth so hard he tasted the warm sliver of blood sink through his teeth and down his throat, the copper taste bitter against his tongue. He unclamped his jaw, somewhat dismayed that after so many years the man could still make him feel like a scorned seven-year old.

He could just play dumb, act like he's never met this man before in his life. No questions, no comments. Bruce was a smart man, he'd catch on, realize there was no need to act like they knew each other, act like Dick wasn't the blemish on his unfathable image that he was.

"Grayson!"

Dick jumped as the barking sound of Evans' bullhorn voice rang through the now dimmed whisper of a once chaotic crime scene. One part of him, the proud, stubborn part, was irritated by his partner's audacity, seeing as Dick was technically above him in rank. However, he found no energy to dwell on it, instead, wearily turning to see the bobbing red head striding towards the van, as though he didn't just graduate from the academy two months ago. Again, under different circumstances, Dick would be rolling on the ground laughing at the sight.

"I could _report _you! You know that? I could go straight to the chief and tell him you broke just about _every single _road violation _anyone _has ever thought of! You almost broke my _neck_!"

Dick surpressed a sigh, slacking his weight to his right leg and crossing his arms, somewhat grateful for the distraction, "Your neck broken?"

Evans threw his head back, croaking an ironic laugh, "No, thank God!"

"So what's the problem?" he said coolly.

Evans' face sobered visably, the red hue tinting down to the usual faint pink, his shoulders slacking. He looked over Dick's shoulder, at Bruce, still gaping at his past ward, Amanda, probably still reeling that Bruce had any connection with a Bludhaven cop, and Alfred, watching the exchange with a hint of amusment.

"What's the rush, anyway?" he asked, his tone ten octives smaller.

"No rush, that's how I always drive," he, finding his precious exit, stuffed the flattened notepad into the rookie's hands, "take the report. I'm going to check with the Commisoner," he turned to Alfred and Amanda, "Good seeing you again, Alfred."

He left the asemble, ignoring the chastising look from Alfred, and worked his way through the crowd of Police until he spotted the old Commisioner Gordon, watching the ongoing reckage with an impassive stare, clearly paying no mind to the young cop pattering on about whatever useless information they found.

"Commisoner." Dick greeted, snapping Gordon from his thoughts, silencing the cop mid-sentence.

It took a moment for Gordon to realize who it was, leaning his head in and squinting. Finally, his eyes sparked with recodnision, a victicious grin stretching across his face, "Dick Grayson?"

Dick found the smile contagious, his own lips twitching, "Hey, Jim."

"Well, look at you!" he chuckled, gesturing disbelievingly at Dick, as though to size him up, "How do you kids grow so fast?"

Dick smiled, "Something in the water. How you been? How's Barbara?"

Gordon's smile fell, the glint in his overly-aged eyes diming, "Didn't you...hear?"

Dick's face fell with the Commisioner's, a sudden flame of panic rising in his throat like acid. His heart thudded a skip faster against his ribs like a basketball. He thought back to all the articles he'd skimmed through. Muggings, fires, explosions, general man against man crimes. Nothing he could remember said anyhting about the police commisoner's daughter getting hurt. Or worse.

"What? Is she okay? Did something happen?" He was now livid with the thought of his old babysitter lying lifeless in the streets, her weight of bullets lodged in her twisted body.

"No, no, she's okay..." he trailed off, as though emersed in a memory he wished he'd forgotten. His eyebrows furrowed, "She...was shot. A few years ago. She..." he struggled for words, his voice cracking just the slightest, "she can't walk."

Images flashed through his mind. Barbara running after him, trailing the clean marble floors of Wayne Manor with little footprints of mud. Barbara striding confidently from the high school, chattering idly with her nameless friends. Her lifting him onto her shoulders so he could see above the crowd at the zoo, all those years ago.

"Oh, man..." he reverted back to the most trivial of instincts for a former boy wonder, shuffling your feet and mindlessly studdering when a situation that was more adult then you could handle came your way. Of course, this did not work when this particular former boy wonder was now a police officer, who next to made his living on detached consolment.

Of course, this wasn't very detatched. It was more attached then Dick had ever had to deal with, in fact. He _knew _Barbara, and, by extension, he knew Batgirl. Niether, he found, could be pictured sitting in a chair on wheels for the rest of their lives.

"...man...I'm sorry...I..." was all he could manage, coming out in short croaks not unlike that of someone being choked to death.

Gordon shook his head without conviction, waving his hand in the universal gesture of silence that had always seemed oblivious to Dick, "No, don't worry about it. It was a while ago. I just..." he looked over Dick's shoulder for a quick glance, "I...just thought Bruce would've told you." The way he said it was like he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say, like he knew he was walking on cracked territory.

"We don't really talk that much anymore." Dick said, quickly, hoping Gordon would latch on and steer away from the subject.

After a quick silence, for what, Dick couldn't be sure, he spoke up again, rattling off the predentials of whatever it was that had gone off. With more conviction, Dick noticed. This was his territory, where he could detatch himseself from the situation and lay it out in simple facts. What was found and what wasn't. Cause of death. Possible subspect. No right or wrong thing to say.

"...Probably gangbangers, snuck through the bars from the gate. Can't be more then three or four sticks, I doubt it was a match. Started at the West, most likely, and worked it's way up---"

The gut-wrentching sound of the thin outer shell of the mansion cracking like an egg shell, caving in on what used to be the dinning room. Dick winced. The firefighters made no progress, still barely holding onto their hose, the water spurting out in every direction but the intended one.

"Er...Sorry, Jim, I gotta make a call." he murmered, digging his cell phone from his pocket and stalking off to a secluded area, far past the police crossing tape, hesitently dialing the number as he walked, convincing himself the city would burn down if he didn't.

It rang four times before a groggy voice answered, "Yeah?"

Eyes tearing from the red-hot smoke, Dick's voice sounded strangled to his own ears, "Garth?"

He heard a stiffled yawn, "Yeah. Whossit?"

"Hey, it's Di--" he racked his brain for any memories of telling his former team mates his name. Probably not, "--Robin."

A pause ensued, not surprising, seeing as he hadn't contacted any of the Titans--not even when he left--in years. And, here he was, calling Aqualad at four in the morning with a casual greeting like they were best friends. It was, at the very least, unsettling.

"Uh, I said--"

"I heard you." the other boy snapped. Dick couldn't help but be taken abake by the harshness of the tone, though he probably deserved it. He didn't say another word, waiting for some other response. He suddenly regretted the call, feeling a ball of anxiety form in his stomach. Maybe he should hang up and let all the former Titans forget he existed. Why had he called, he wondered. Looking at the growing fire, towering above him like a burning mountain, the question answered itself. But, then again, why did he care if the place burned? Why did he call someone who probably hated him? Why was he even _here?_ One long lapse of judgment, from when he got into his car to when he opened his phone.

Maybe Garth would hang up first, and Dick would go back to pretending he'd never been Robin, and he could go back to Bludhaven and sleep for the first time in almost two days, and write the entire evening off as a sick, food-poisoning induced dream.

Alas, when Garth spoke again, it was more like a mutter, a side note he really didn't care if Dick heard, "Talk."

Dick racked his brain, sorting the incoherent thoughts for later pondering, "Look...can you get down to Gotham. There's a fire, and the boys aren't..." he glanced at the fumbling firemen, "...handling it well."

A pause, "You vanish off the face of the Earth for three years and then you call me asking me to put out a fire? In _Gotham_? Do you have _any idea--_"

"Yeah, okay, I'm a dick, I got it. The city's going down unless you get here. Kick my ass later." Dick hissed impatiently, coughing into his shoulder as more smoke filled his lungs.

Garth paused, "...I'll be right there, " he finally sighed, his voice flat with defeat, "but your gonna tell me _everything_, you hear me, Bird Boy?"

"Yeah, whatever."

He hung up, turning back to the fire.

Bruce Wayne stared at him as Dick's temperary partner rattled on to Amanda and Alfred. His eyes, black, still, were like black hole's, swallowing Dick's attention with such a force that he momentarily forgot that he was in the middle of a taped off area, breathing in more toxic fumes then oxygen.

Maybe it was why Bruce could so easily buy and sell buisnesses at disgustingly unbelievable prices, or control people with such ease. Dick forced his gaze elsewhere, studying the crowd being pushed back by a chain of officers. All faces, nameless, blurs of unrelated identities that may of may not have an impact on Dick Grayson's life. He stared at one women, in particular. Her hair was dull violet, hanging in shags around her diamond face. Her skin pale, shadowed by the flames towering above her and the rest of the onlookers. Her eyes, the color of her hair, reflected the score of light like mirrors, and Dick found something horribly familiar about them, upturned with an amazed wonder. Her hand was in the air, waving back and forth. He glanced behind him, then back at her. The eyes, he noticed, were looking towards him. _At _him.

"Son of a..." he cursed, striding over to the line of officers, flashing his badge with impatience and grabbing the women by the arm and leading her away from the earshot of the crowd, "What the _hell _are you _doing _here?"

Raven rolled her eyes, shaking Dick's grasp away with an irritated flick of her wrist, "I _live _hear."

Dick scowled in disbelief, swinging an arm towards the burning mansion, "You live _here_?"

"Three blocks away, genius. Where's my 'hello'?"

Dick grimaced, "Get out of here, Raven. This doesn't concern you."

She looked at him incredulously, "Bull-_fucking_-shit!"

His mouth was open, prepared for a retort, or dismissal, or threat of public arrest, when a loud explosion sounded throughout the night air, shaking the ground beneath them. He heard a scream.

**A/N Okay, I finally updated this. I'm not good with chapter stories. In desperate need of beta/revising.**


	4. AN

Love books? Love re-reading them? Love reviewing them? Way to much time on your hands? Well, come on over to www DOT booksmoviesandallthatgoodstuff AT blogspot DOT com and apply to join the team....Check profile for further information.

Must be able to post on a semi-regular basis! (Once a week, every two weeks...whatever)

I'm bored....

P.S. Again, sorry it's not a chapter...


	5. Chapter 5

Hey, guys. Sorry I haven't updated anything in...well, in a while. I've taken a break from writing for a while. I'm starting my freshman year of high school this year, and I really need to get my shit together. This is gonna be mass-posted, so I'll post my individual messages for each story:

The Unfortunate Truth: I started this when I was twelve, so needless to say I've grown a bit since then. I do have the entire things plotted out in my head, and one day I do intend to finish, but for now consider this on indefinite hold.

Gone Baby Gone: This one I actually almost finished with. I typed most of it on my friend's computer, so it might take a while to get to it...but still. I'll get there.

It's Kind of a Funny Story: I feel really guilty about this one, because I promised myself I'd finish it...Anyway. I'll probably finish this during my next fanfiction binge.

Invasion: I SHOULD BE DOING THIS! This was meant as a comic relief, something to do when I'm bored...I'm bored SO OFTEN! I SHOULD WORK ON THIS! Feel free to cyber-smack me.

Soliloquy: I seriously wrote all the stories for this but, again, on friend's computer.

Playing With Fire: Consider this one up for adoption.

Remaining: Will finish during next binge. I actually like this one.

A Comedy of Errors: No one seems to care much for this one, so consider it dropped till further notice.

The Awkward Kind: Not feeling this one, I have to say. I pictured in my head a John Hughes like angsty romance with a tragic end, but, well...I'm not John Hughes.

No Such Things: This is completly out of my comfort zone and I have no idea why I started it. Up for adoption.

Also, I have a few stories in the works...all Twilight, aparently. Two are AU and one's a three-shot for New Moon. Again, I consider fanfiction like drinking: if your not addicted, you only do it when your unhappy. I am not addicted, and I'm pretty content at the moment. As you all know, I tend to have time periods where I update at a ridiculous pace, and then long stretches of time where I do nothing. Rest assured, however, I will not be content forever and as soon as I'm engulfed in an overwhelming wave of depression, most of these stories will be updated, if not finished. And I will post the new stories I have for Twilight. And we will all live happily every after.

The End


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